


be kind, rewind

by secondfiddle



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondfiddle/pseuds/secondfiddle
Summary: its like a three course meal, bro. you dont eat dessert first.





	be kind, rewind

Michael knows his life is royally fucked when he realizes that the routine of crime kept him glued together.

He certainly wasn't one to drift, float from one area to the next, but when the football plan of his fell apart in high school, he was dazed, knocked straight onto his ass. Michael did what any eighteen year old did when they became strapped for cash after getting kicked out of the nest: he sold weed. Fuck, everyone sold weed out in the Midwest, what else was there to do in the middle of bumfuck nowhere? It took him some time, but he was able to move up the food chain where he started to deliver drugs, stuff a lot harder than weed, to the rest of the big time dealers out west. That's where the real money was being made. Then one day, he just had to take a huge order out to be flown all the way to the coast, an order that Michael knew that he would be getting a very, very nice cut of. He just had to beat the other driver to the punch. 

Michael certainly doesn't regret meeting Trevor (okay, he regrets it when Trevor calls him at one in the morning to talk about the most inane subjects because his bodily clock is even more fucked up than Michael's, or when they argue about the dumbest shit possible during a drive, over drinks, during anything, really, because neither him nor Trevor understand how proper communication works), or even making him his partner. Michael wholly regrets becoming attached to Trevor.

(Maybe that's why he ran. Michael needed to clear his head after twenty some years, and took a long nine years to do so. Good for Michael, not so much for everyone else.)

He wanted everything to cool down after The Big One. Everybody gets a nice chunk of change and goes their separate ways. Life does not work that way, and Michael spent the better part of five months pretending that he didn't kill one of the government's top contractors, along with a big wig gangster and a few other clowns Franklin and Trevor decided needed to go. Michael has zero problems with killing, far from it, but his bodies sometimes come to follow him.

He knows how to tide Trevor over well. Weekly visits to his trailer. A call every other day. Texts whenever he remembered. Michael has far too much time to make up for, so he wants to get started as soon as possible. Nine long years of guilt starts to feel heavy on his shoulders, and frankly? Michael would do anything to shrug that responsibility off. He owes Trevor that much.

Once Michael actually gots used to the trailer, the messy nature of the place doesn't really faze him anymore. There's some weird method of chaotic organization to the place that, once you've been there one too many times, you see the method to Trevor's madness. Michael doesn't stay overnight often (Amanda still doesn't like the idea of them hanging out outside of work, and Michael's mature enough to understand exactly why), but at this point, Michael knows the ins and outs of the trailer just as well as his own house. Michael's comfortable enough to park in the garage (plus, he just paid over a grand for his tires and would like to keep them), and he knocks on the screen door one time, three times, three times again. Michael may be Trevor's friend, but Trevor still doesn't trust Michael enough to keep the door unlocked.

Michael hears the multiple deadbolts unlock inside (T must've had them installed after the Lost ransacked his house, an event that get grander and more wild each time Trevor re-tells it over drinks) and is pulled inside by an inked hand. "Fuckin' finally. Thought I was gonna die before you showed up."

Michael makes a show out of brushing off the imaginary dirt Trevor must've left on his jacket sleeve. "You know traffic is a fucking nightmare on a Friday night. I'm just happy I didn't kill anyone on the way here."

Trevor shoves a beer into Michael's hands. "What a rarity."

"Hey hey, who's the one who had a body in their refrid-'

A faint, steady buzzing halts the conversation. Trevor sighs through his teeth and whips his phone from his leather jacket, biting at his thumbnail as he reads the captivating message. He tucks his phone back into his jacket, scooping his pistol and a pen off of the linoleum counter. "Sorry to depart so soon, but Daddy has business to attend to."

Michael can't help but scoff. "So what, you're just gonna leave me here?"

"Yep! That's exactly what I'm doing." Trevor grabs his truck keys from the nail by the door. "I'll be back in a few. If ya get bored I have a box of tapes under my bed. Touch anything else and I'll rip your fingernails off." He slams the screen door shut, and mere seconds later, Michael hears the Bodhi's tires screech and zoom past the trailer.

 

Michael lasts all of five minutes before he finally gives in and pulls the torn, heavy cardboard box from under Trevor's bed. There has to have been easily a hundred some tapes in the box, most of them marked 'RETURN TO PALM TREE VIDEO AND CASSETTE' on the side of the tape. He starts to sift though the mess of tapes, sorting them by genre on the counter while he pops open a second beer. Michael recognizes most of them: Top Shot, Heat Wave, The Roach Man, Hit List, Attack Of The Killer Spiders, some real classics. There's a few B-Listers in the mix he's never seen before, and a good amount of tapes that are in French that he sits aside in their own separate section on the counter. There's one tape nestled between One Night In Budapest and The Hitman's Wife, however, that finally didn't have a warning about a twenty dollar late fee. Michael pulls it free, then notices that the tape doesn't have any labels on it at all, with no signs of it ever even having one. He flips it around, desperately looking for a marker, a sticker, anything, and comes up empty handed. Seeing that the tape wasn't written on like some of the others, it wasn't a taped movie or show. For some reason, Trevor left this one blank.

What the fuck is on this tape that's so sinister that Trevor didn't mark it  with any identifiers? Surely he would want it easy to find for a later viewing? Ideas and thoughts swim around in Michael's brain. A snuff film. Perhaps a home video from when he was kid, but the cassette looks too new. Maybe he recorded a confession. The voice in Michael's head that urges him that this is probably a personal item that Trevor wouldn't want Michael to see is smothered. He hastily shoves the tape into the VCR on top of the TV, and switches the TV on. 

Michael is treated to a full two minutes of static. He huffs, the air of mystery surrounding the tape dissipating. He finishes his beer and tosses the can into the overflowing garbage can a bit too violently. Way to hype himself up for a blank fucking tape. He leans into the fridge in search for another six pack to kill when he hears footsteps coming from the TV. He quickly slams the refrigerator shut and plops himself down on the couch, eyes now glued to the glowing television set.

Michael is greeted to a man in a red baseball cap, wearing nothing more than a hiked up pair of dolphin shorts and a thin white tee shirt on the screen, with his face pointed to the floor. The man on screen starts rooting through the lockers that were shoddily set up for a backdrop. It's clear that most of them probably aren't even real, because the man fiddles with a few of the plastic locks lazily before opening one and grabbing a towel before slamming it shut. Michael gets a perfect view of the 'F U C K' spelled out across the knuckles when he slings the towel across his neck and takes a seat on the bench in front of him, but can hardly even register it before two other men enter the scene.

"You fuckin' failed us, bro," one of the nameless men bark to the man on the bench. "You're part of our team now. You need to always give one hundred percent."

The man in the cap barks out a laugh. "I'm not part of anyone's circlejerk. Just because the coach gives me a stupid fucking plan to follow doesn't mean I'm gonna do it.'

Michael leans back into the couch. Make no mistake, that's definitely Trevor on the bench. He chuckles in his drink. Leave it to Trevor to be a complete asshole, even to his fake teammates.

The second man smacks Trevor in the back of the head, almost knocking the baseball cap off of his head. "Are you giving us fucking mouth, rookie?"

Trevor looks up at the second men with his grin that's guaranteed to piss off anyone who sees it. "Of course I am. You wanna get a different kind of mouth?"

The first man knocks him off the bench, and Michael hisses when he hears Trevor's knees audibly hit the ground. "Nobody backtalks the captain and gets away with it, rookie." His hand finds the back of Trevor's head and he guides it straight to the boner he's popping in his sweatpants. "You seem real eager to get punished."

Trevor's now nudging the tent in front of him with his face, looking up at the first man while he runs his tongue over the clothed tip in front of him. "You read my mind. Haven't I been such a horrible teammate?" 

Michael shifts uncomfortably when Trevor's hands dip into the first man's pants to pull them down at his feet, the first man's semi-erect cock now bobbing freely in front of Trevor's face. Trevor's mouth is drawn in closer to the tip of the first man's cock, and he sucks on it for less than a second before pulling back and smiling at the men above him. "I need to be taught a lesson. Badly."

Michael's wants to laugh at the gag-worthy dialogue, but his brain was currently screaming at him to get up and turn off the TV, eject the tape, something, anything. His body is glued to the couch, his full, undivided attention given to the two men manhandling Trevor into position on screen. The first man forces Trevor's mouth open to guide in his cock, and pulls his head forward until the brim of Trevor's cap touches the man's hips and starts to bend slightly. Trevor stays there for a good ten seconds before he gags and pulls back, spit dripping down to the floor. He's ready in no time however, latching right back on the now fully erect cock, lips wrapped tightly around the head. The other man has now discarded his shorts, and strides over to the action, his cock now rubbing up against Trevor's cheek.

Trevor's mouth leaves the first man's cock with a pop, and looks up at the second man incredulously. "You could've asked nicely, y'know," he mumbles under his breath, but he leans in to take the man's cock in his mouth nevertheless. His free hand travels up to the first man's now neglected dick, hand twisting every few seconds while he hastily jerked the first man off. Most, if not all of his attention at the moment was being given to the second man in front of him, who's hand was now laced in Trevor's hair, moving his head back and forth while mumbling a few 'oh fuck yeah's here and there.

Fuck it. Michael undoes his belt and kicks his suit pants off, pulling his half-interested dick free. He spits in his palm before lazily tugging at his dick, glancing back to the TV. Hey, porn is porn, and Michael would be lying through his teeth if he said this wasn't at least semi-hot. He tilts his head back onto the couch, closing his eyes for a few seconds while he focuses on his own dick for a while, letting the sounds of Trevor going to town on the two men's dicks wash over him. His attention snaps back to the TV, however, when he hears one of the men start talking again. 

"This ain't a good enough punishment," the second man slurs, and he pulls Trevor off his cock. He grips onto Trevor's arm and yanks him back up. He makes a gesture to Trevor, and Trevor nods quickly and removes what little clothing he had on, tossing them in the same corner as the other men's clothing. He's pushed back down onto his hands and knees, and the second man walks over to the single working locker to pull out a bottle of lube. He kneel down right next to Trevor, running one lubed finger in Trevor's asscrack before shoving it in. Trevor makes a small face but doesn't say anything or make a noise. One finger is like child's play to Trevor. The second man works it for a bit before sliding in a second one, and even then all Trevor does is hang his down, like he's gotten bored already. The first man joined them again, quickly tugging at his cock as he watches the show below him. It's not until the second man put in a third finger that Trevor's head shoots up, turning back to look at the man behind him. 

The second man must've found Trevor's prostate because he twists back in once and Trevor falters, his arms starting to wobble a bit. The second man speeds up and that's when Trevor starts to cry out, dropping his head back down. He's being jerked forward by the force of the second man, his arms giving out for a few seconds before he quickly gets back upright. The second man pulls away, and Trevor actually fucking whines about it before his face is guided by the second man's hand to face him. "You ready for it?"

Trevor manages a quick nod of yes. The second man gives him a chaste kiss on the lips before moving back again, teasing Trevor by grinding his cock against his ass before he slowly pushes in, both him and Trevor groaning together as he bottoms out. 

The second man looks over to the first with a huge grin. "Oh god, you should feel his fucking ass bro. This is so much better than his mouth."

It's true, Michael muses as he watches the first man kneel down and present his cock to Trevor again, who raises his head to put the tip against his tongue and slide it straight down his throat. Trevor gives some pretty fucking nice blowjobs, but absolutely nothing compares to getting to shove into his tight, warm ass, listening to him moan and swear when you start to actually move inside of him, like the second man is now on-screen. If he works his imagination, Michael can pretend for a few seconds that he's thrusting into the tight heat the second man is currently enjoying. The second man is gripping onto Trevor's side so tightly that when he leaves go to switch positions with the first man, he leaves behind angry, red marks on Trevor's hips. 

The first man slides in with a long groan, laughing as he pulls Trevor back farther onto his cock. "You're right. Jesus Christ, why didn't we just start with the ass?"

The second man is stroking Trevor's cheek with his thumb, granting his mouth a few seconds of rest while he's getting mercilessly pounded into. "It's like a three course meal, bro. You don't eat dessert first." 

He leans down to Trevor, planting another kiss on his forehead. Michael has a feeling that he and Trevor probably knew one another somehow, what with him breaking character quickly and being less of a douchebag than the first guy was. "You holdin' up so far? Havin' fun?'

Trevor smiles weakly and the second man chuckles. "You're doing great, bud. We're almost done. Pretty sure you are too." He lets Trevor latch onto his cock, watches him mindlessly slobber all over it before letting it disappear into the black hole that is Trevor's throat. He pushes back the hair that fell into his face, letting a hand gently rest on the back of Trevor's head and helping him move back and forth.

The first man suddenly picks up his pace, and Trevor gags before pulling off of the second man. "Jesus Christ, I gotta get it in him, I'm not gonna make it out, man-"

The first man stutters in his movement, then pulls Trevor back farther, his head dropping down as he lets out a deep, gutteral moan. He slowly pulls out, smacking Trevor's ass one last time before ungracefully falling backwards onto his ass. The second man sees this as a go-ahead, and positions Trevor's face directly below his cock. It only takes him three strokes before he's coming all over Trevor's face, and Jesus Christ, Michael's pretty sure seeing Trevor marked with someone else's jizz is pretty high on his personal 'hottest shit even seen' list.

The second man pushes Trevor back down onto the floor gently, his hand resting on Trevor's leaking, twitching dick. Michael himself is just a few seconds away from coming all over Trevor's nasty couch, and he's sure it's somehow poetic that he and Trevor come at the same time. Michael lazily wipes his hand on the couch, groaning as the recording cuts to black after a lingering shot on Trevor's sweaty, limp, come-covered body on the floor of the set. He lets his head fall back on the couch, his eyes sliding shut.

 

A few minutes pass. Michael hears his phone buzz, and he musters enough energy to pull it from his pants on the floor.

<[ AM 2 MIN. OU T. DID U MISSS ME? ]

Fuck. 

Michael frantically pulls back on his pants and ejects the tape from the VCR. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He slips his loafers back onto his feet, spinning around hopelessly in circles with the evidence in his hands. He has the absolutely brilliant idea of wrapping the tape in his sports coat and  tossing it into the trunk of his car, hauling ass back into the trailer to look innocent. He shoves Vice City Blues into the VCR and fasts forwards to around halfway into the movie. He's seen it at least five times, so Trevor hopefully won't be too suspicious. He's shoving the box back under the bed before he hears the door open.

"Honey, I'm home!" Trevor shouts, swiping Michael's half-empty beer from the counter to take a sip. "Anyone come by while I was gone?"

Michael walks out of Trevor's room, taking a seat at one of the 'dining room' chairs. "No. Was anyone supposed to-"

"Nah, nah," Trevor interrupts, waving a hand around. "Was hoping nobody came by, I forgot to go through the visitor's protocol with you before I left." He takes off his now semi-bloody jacket, running a finger through his mouth before going to work on rubbing out the blood on the collar. "How did your night go?"

Michael was itching to say 'oh, well I saw you get fucked by two strangers and jerked off to it', but he's able to compose himself before answering. "Just watched some tapes. And your night?"

Trevor must've gotten the blood off the collar, because he's moved the jacket upwards and started wiping off the arms. "Slightly eventful. Told my bail bond not to move and of course the stupid fucker moved, so I spent an hour peeling him off the blacktop on the highway. I still made three hundred from him, so there's that." Trevor's given up on his jacket, and tosses it to the couch. "Could've made more if he just listened to me."

Michael eyes the jacket. "Should we be expecting anyone to come by for him?"

Trevor scoffs. "He wasn't that important. Just a stockbroker. There's a shitton of those fuckers here." He looks up at the TV and groans. "Out of all the movies in that box, you picked fucking Vice City Blues?"

Michael folds his arms. "What's wrong with that one?"

"For one, it's boring as piss. Takes a whole fucking hour for the movie to actually have any action." Trevor plops down into the couch, propping his feet on one of the arm rests. "Second, the main guy's clingy and whiney as hell. Third, the girl's not even that hot. Pretty fucking shitty movie, if you ask me."

"Then why do you even have this movie?"

Trevor shrugs. "I remembered you liked it."

The two of them finish the last forty minutes of the movie in silence. They're halfway through the credits when Trevor breaks the silence. "You wanna take the bed or the couch."

"Neither. I'm going home." 

Trevor raises an eyebrow. "You sure you can drive home?"

That makes Michael laugh. "C'mon. I can drive from your house to mine with my eyes closed. I've had two beers. Maybe."

Trevor glances over at the clock on the oven. "It's also one in the morning."

He's got a point there. "You've got a point there. I'll take the bed."

Trevor sits up slightly to untie his boots, kicking them off halfway through. "You know where everything is." 

Michael doesn't trust the integrity of Trevor's sheets to sleep in his boxers, so he doesnt strip once he gets to the bed. He kicks off his shoes, however, and hits the lights before curling up in the bed. He stares at the stained ceiling for ten long minutes before sitting up. "Goodnight, T."

He hears something shift out in the living room. "Night, M."

Michael spends another twenty minutes looking around in Trevor's room before he can finally fall asleep.

 

Michael is up and out of Trevor's apartment at seven A.M. sharp. It's not like he doesn't like hanging around Trevor's, he just hates the awkward domesticity that's been building around them lately. Last thing Michael needs is another complication in a relationship that's admittedly full of them. Michael feels guilty enough to shoot off a text.

[ Sorry I left early. Appointment at 7:45 today. I'll stay longer next time. ]>

Michael doesn't see a response when he arrives at the house. It's not really that worrying, Trevor doesn't usually wake up until mid-afternoon anyways. Michael's pulling his suit jacket from the backseat when he's confused by the tape and- shit, he forgot all about the stupid fucking tape. Where's he gonna put the damn thing? Michael can't even remember whether or not he still has a VCR for the thing anyhow. Michael's now searching his house for a good hiding spot, a place where even the nosiest houseguest (see: Trevor) won't see the thing. He decides on putting it behind the nature books nobody's ever read before. For safekeeping. He'll find a way to make copies and then bring it back.

 

The tape never makes it back to Trevor's trailer.

Michael's both proud and slightly embarrassed that he's jerked off to the tape probably six times in the past three weeks. (Hell, the tape was a blessing of sorts, because he finally got around to cleaning the attic to find a VCR player.) If it wasn't the tape he was jerking off to, he was jerking off to the fantasy of being one of those men in the jock uniforms, pounding into Trevor's ass like there's no tomorrow. They haven't really messed around since they rekindled their 'relationship' (Michael doesn't count the angry sex the week after they met again as 'fooling around', that was basically an argument in itself, and the time they exchanged handjobs in the shitty meth lab/liquor store front was because they needed to blow off some steam, not because they really wanted to), and he wants it to stay that way for as long as possible. Things between him and Trevor were rocky as is, he's not sure what'll happen if sex is thrown in.

But jacking off to his friend's sex tape every other night? Perfectly fine in his book.

 

Trevor's in the passenger seat of Michael's Tailgater the next time Michael sees him, the two of them cruising down the Interstate to meet a contract in Paleto Bay. He's twiddling with a loose thread in his flannel shirt, leg bobbing up and down and up and down and up and down and-

The corner of Trevor's lip perk up when Michael takes a hand off the wheel to still Trevor's leg. He doesn't make a move to swat it away. Just yet. "Hey, M, I've been meanin' to ask you something."

Michael moves his hand from Trevor's leg to grab his coffee from the cupholder. He sips. "Shoot."

Trevor unwraps a second piece of gum and pops it into his mouth before he speaks. "Didja see a black tape in that box when you where at my place?"

Michael almost spits out his coffee. "I'm sorry, a what now?"

"A blank black tape. I think it was in that box the last time I saw it." He cracks his gum twice. "I can't seem to find it and I was hoping you saw it when you were there a few weeks ago."

Michael take a quick second to find the right words. "No. Didn't see anything like that. And stop cracking your gum, you sound like my daughter."

Trevor cracks his gum again for good measure. "How's she doin' anyways?"

"Who?"

Trevor looks at Michael over his aviators. "Your daughter. Tracey."

"Oh. Oh! Yeah, Tracey. She's fine. Having a nice time at the University. She says classes are hard, but I didn't want her to breeze through some community college anyways."

"What's she majoring in?"

Michael takes another nervous sip of coffee, suddenly very aware that he can't really see Trevor's reactions through the reflective aviators. He swallows hard. "Film Studies."

"Huh." Trevor turns to look out the passenger window. "I remember her talking about that."

"Yeah." Michael sits his coffee cup in the cupholder. "Apparently she's more interested in movies than I remember. Like father, like daughter I suppose."

Trevor doesn't say anything for a minute. "Hope that's not a true statement."

"What'dya mean by that?"

Trevor turns over to Michael, face completely expressionless. "You know what I mean."

 

The remaining drive to Paleto Bay is spent in silence. They chat with the contract, plan some steps, schedule the next meeting. Michael was very much lying about going back to retirement after The Big One. Once he got a second taste of the fast paced life of crime, he snapped of his coma and happily jumped back into the murky waters. He won't go for something as ambitious as TBO ever again, hell no. Just a few jobs here and there to wake him back up every few months. That's it. Anymore and Michael might actually get those divorce papers Amanda's been threatening him with for the past month.

He agrees to let Trevor stay overnight on the drive home. The drive back isn't too eventful, he and Trevor just chit-chat about the half planned job and diddle back and forth between the Monarchs game and the Lightning game on the car radio until they pull into Michael's driveway. Trevor doesn't even wait for Michael to park to unstrap and get out, already at the doorstep by the time Michael's out of the car. He pushes past Michael once the door's unlocked, kicking off his shoes and crashing onto the couch, like he owns the place. Typical.

"Mandy doesn't come back from her retreat until Thursday afternoon," Michael says, as if he hasn't been talking to Trevor about it for the past week or anything. "So y'know. Get comfy."

No answer. Maybe he really was that tired. He was acting odd in the car, he could be coming down with something. Michael grabs two beer cans from the fridge. "Beer?"

Trevor gestures aimlessly in Michael's general direction. "Yeah yeah, sure." He pauses, then turns to face Michael. "What's with the VCR?"

Shit. "Found it while I was cleaning it out my attic. What about it?"

Trevor's eyes narrow. "You can't clean to save your life."

Michael raises an eyebrow. "Come on. Just because I'm rich doesn't mean I don't know how to clean." 

"Fine. You don't clean for no reason. What's the occasion."

Michael takes a sip of his beer to conceal the fact that he's a little worried about what Trevor's insinuating. "Jesus Christ, what are you, the FIB? I'm not allowed to clean my own house now?"

"No. I'm not saying that at all." Trevor doesn't say anything again for a good thirty seconds. "What were you watching?"

Michael takes another drink. "Killer Operator."

"Oh, cool." Trevor hoists himself up and walks over to the TV. "So we can just start where you left-"

"Absolutely not."

Trevor looks over at Michael, finger hovering over the power button on the TV. "Why not?"

"The movie won't make any sense if you start midway through."

Trevor scoffs. "C'mon, Mikey. I've seen this movie a million goddamn times. It's not gonna kill me if I-" Trevor stops mid-sentence, like something suddenly dawned on him. He looks back at the bookshelf. "If you were watching Killer Operator, why's it still in the box set on the shelf?"

Michael doesn't say a goddamn word and picks up his beer with a shaky hand to take a drink.

Trevor hits the eject button on the VCR. A blank, black tape pops out, and Trevor pulls it out, torturously slow. He flips it around, back and forth in his hands. "Huh. Little weird that you were watching a blank tape."

Michael knows at this point that Trevor is now fucking around with him, and rightfully so. Michael kills his beer. "It's a. Uh. Family movie."

"Hm. Weird you didn't mark it with a date, or a event. Stuff you'd normally do." Trevor stops fiddling with the tape to look up at Michael with a smug grin, like he knew for a fact that he caught Michael in a trap (he has, which just makes it even worse). "You sure you wanna play this movie?"

Michael gets to work on the second beer, trying to keep himself relatively composed. "Yeah sure. Why not."

Trevor shrugs and pushes it back into the VCR. It feels like it takes him an eternity to hit play. 

Michael feels a bead of sweat roll down his forehead when the static fizzles and opens to the shitty set, with Trevor walking into frame to rifle around with the shitty fake lockers. Michael takes a long, shaky drink. 

Trevor crosses back to the couch to make a show of himself getting nice and comfortable. He props his legs up on the futon, taking his phone out and scrolling through his emails, like this is a totally fucking normal action flick and he's bored out of his mind. Anywhere else, and it would be a shitty comedy sketch on primetime.

"Can we, uh-" Michael coughs into his beer. "C'mon, turn this shit off."

Trevor looks over at Michael. "Absolutely not." He pats his hand on the couch cushion next to him. "Sit."

Michael shakes his head. "I'm good, tha-"

"I said. Sit. The fuck. Down."

Michael raises his hands in mock surrender. He picks up his beer and sits next to Trevor on the sofa, placing his beer on the coffee table beside him. He settles back into the couch, staring into the corner of the room, desperately trying not to watch Trevor choking on a stranger's dick on TV. 

Trevor somehow sensed that Michael wasn't paying attention, because he slings an arm behind Michael and draws him closer, his other hand gently moving Michael's jaw (and sightline) to the direction of the LCD screen in front of him. "What's the matter Mikey, I thought this movie was your favorite. You have to watch the whole thing for it to make sense."

Alright. Michael can play this game. "I've watched it a million goddamn times. It's not gonna kill me to watch it midway through.'

Trevor laughs. "Y'know, you're the only one to blame for this mess," He leans over to snatch Michael's beer for a drink. Michael feels so itchy watching Trevor's throat move as he gulps down the beer. He has a feeling that Trevor can sense his eyes burning a hole into his body, because he takes his sweet fucking time to finish the beer, sitting the now empty bottle back on the table in front of him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Michael was so busy watching him drink his beer that he didn't notice Trevor's hand slip past the waistband of his now unbuttoned chinos, so it's a bit of a shock for him when he feel a hand wrap around his cock. Michael forces himself to stare at the TV, trying his best to ignore Trevor. It's working, at least for now. 

Trevor pulls it free, and Michael finally snaps out of his trance when he notices Trevor shift his legs behind him, making his face about two or three inches away from Michael's dick. 

Oh. Okay. 

It's basically muscle memory at this point. Michael's one hand rests on Trevor's nape, lightly guiding him closer in an act of impatience. Michael's reward is a pinch on his inner thigh, making him blow breath through his teeth. He should know better, this is really the only thing Trevor takes his good old time with. His light grip in Trevor's hair tightens when he gets down to business and takes him in fully, settling on a lazy pace. Michael alternates between looking down at Trevor's bobbing head and him on the screen, his eyes rolling back obscenely while the men on set have their way.

Like a three course fucking meal, you don't eat dessert first. Yeah fucking right. If they asked Michael, he'd eat dessert first every fucking day of the week.

As the movie winds down to the end, Michael taps the side of Trevor's head, a warning. Trevor pops off, his free hand quickly jerking Michael to his climax, flinching slightly when he gets a streak of come on his cheek and on his lip. The film ends, the only sound in the house now being the two of them trying to catch their breaths.

Trevor slowly sits up, running his thumb across his cheek and swiping it against his tongue. He cracks his neck, once, twice, and runs his tongue across his reddened lips. He glances over to Michael, who's been watching his every move like his life depended on it.

Trevor hums. "So. She's not back until Thursday afternoon? That's enough time to watch a few tapes, don'tcha think?'  
 

**Author's Note:**

> DEADASS THIS WORK IS OVER A YEAR OLD. i write fics on the notepad feature on the galaxy phone, and the last time i mass edited this shit was september 5th, 2017. lmao i couldn't care less that this ship is dead in the ground, im getting rid of all the damn notes. digging up the beloved corpse that is this pairing  
> some real notes:  
> • like michael, i love movies too so i had to reference them bonus points if you can name em all  
> • idk why but id expect tracey out of everyone to go to college. would she be a film studies major? maybe, i just wanted to make a joke  
> • headcanon time: trevor's a french canadian. thats not gonna be important, but eh  
> • trevor is the sole reason this universe's version of blockbuster went out of business. those late fees, man.


End file.
